The Moon and the Sun by Vonda N. McIntyre Read Free Book Online Page B

monster’s eerie melody wrapped Marie-Josèphe in the balmy breeze of the Caribbean. It stopped abruptly when the fish splashed into the water.
    Marie-Josèphe shivered violently.
    “Come!” Yves said suddenly. “You’ll catch the ague.”

    3

    The sea
    monster
    floated
    beneath
    the
    surface,
    hummin
    g, its
    voice a
    low
    moan.
    The
    edges of
    the
    small
    water
    reflected
    the
    sound.
    A
    rotting
    fish fell
    into the
    pool.
    The sea
    monster
    dove
    away,
    then
    circled
    back,
    sniffed
    at it,
    scooped
    it up,
    and
    flung it
    away. It
    sailed
    between
    the cold
    black
    bars and
    hit the
    ground
    with a
    dead
    splat .
    The
    sea
    monster
    sang.

    oOo

    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    took
    Yves up
    the
    narrow
    dirty
    stairs,
    through
    the dark
    hallway
    and
    along
    the
    threadb
    are
    carpet,
    to the
    attic of
    the
    chateau
    of
    Versaill
    es. Her
    cold
    clammy
    dress
    had
    soaked
    the fur
    lining of
    Lorraine
    ’s cloak.
    She
    could
    not stop
    shiverin
    g.
    “Is
    this
    where
    we’re to
    live?”
    Yves
    asked,
    dismaye
    d.
    “W
    e have
    three
    rooms!”
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    exclaim
    ed.
    “Courtie
    rs
    scheme
    and
    bribe
    and
    connive
    for what
    we’ve
    been
    given
    freely.”
    “It’s
    a filthy
    attic.”
    “In
    His
    Majesty’
    s
    chateau!
    ”
    “M
    y cabin
    on the
    galleon
    was
    cleaner.
    ”
    Mar
    ie-Josèp
    he
    opened
    the door
    to her
    dark,
    cold,
    shabby
    little
    room.
    Light
    spilled
    out. She
    stared,
    astonish
    ed.
    “An
    d my
    room at
    universi
    ty was
    larger,”
    Yves
    said.
    “Hello,
    Odelette
    .”
    A
    young
    woman
    of
    extraord
    inary
    beauty
    rose
    from the
    chair
    where
    she sat
    sewing
    by
    candleli
    ght.
    “Go
    od
    evening,
    M.
    Yves,”
    said
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe’s
    Turkish
    slave,
    with
    whom
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    shared a
    birthday
    , and to
    whom
    she had
    not been
    allowed
    to speak
    for five
    years.
    She
    smiled
    at her
    mistress
    in a
    matter-o
    f-fact
    way.
    “Hello,
    Mlle
    Marie.”
    “O
    delette!”
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    ran to
    Odelette
    and
    flung
    herself
    into her
    arms.
    “How
    —
    where
    — Oh,
    I’m so
    glad to
    see
    you!”
    “Ml
    le
    Marie,
    you’re
    soaked!
    ”
    Odelette
    pointed
    to the
    dressing
    -room
    door.
    “Go
    away,
    M. Yves,
    so I may
    get Mlle
    Marie
    out of
    these
    wet
    clothes.”
    Odelette
    had
    never,
    from the
    time
    they
    were all
    children
    , shown
    Yves a
    moment
    ’s
    deferenc
    e.
    Yve
    s offered
    her a
    mock
    bow and
    left to
    explore
    his
    rooms.
    “W
    here did
    you
    come
    from?
    How
    did you
    get
    here?”
    “W
    as it not
    your
    will,
    Mlle
    Marie?”
    Odelette
    unfasten
    ed the
    many
    buttons
    of
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe’s
    grand
    habit.
    “It
    was, but
    I never
    dared
    hope
    they’d
    send
    you.
    Before
    my ship
    sailed, I
    wrote to
    the
    Mother
    Superior
    , I wrote
    to the
    priest, I
    wrote to
    the
    governo
    r —”
    The
    clammy
    wet silk
    fell
    away,
    leaving
    her bare
    arms
    exposed
    to the
    cold
    night
    air.
    “And
    when I
    reached
    Saint-Cy
    r, I
    asked
    Mme de
    Mainten
    on for
    help — I
    even
    wrote to
    the
    King!”
    She
    hugged
    herself,
    trying to
    ward off
    the chill.
    “Thoug
    h I don’t
    suppose
    he ever
    saw my
    letter!”
    “Pe
    rhaps it
    was the
    governo
    r. I
    attende
    d his
    daughte
    r during
    her
    passage
    to
    France,
    though
    the
    Mother
    Superior
    wanted
    to keep
    me.”
    Od
    elette
    picked
    loose
    the wet
    knots of
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe’s
    stays.
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    stood
    naked
    and
    shiverin
    g on the
    worn
    rug. Her
    ruined
    gown
    and
    silver
    petticoat
    lay in a
    heap.
    Odelette
    hung
    the
    Chevali
    er’s
    cloak on
    the
    dress-ra
    ck.
    “I’ll
    brush it,
    and it
    might
    dry
    unstaine
    d. But
    your
    beautifu
    l
    petticoat
    — !”
    Odelette
    fell into
    their old
    habits of
    domesti
    city as if
    no time
    had
    passed
    at all.
    She
    rubbed
    Marie-Jo
    sèphe
    with a
    scrap of
    old
    blanket
    and
    chafed
    her
    fingers
    and
    arms to
    bring
    back
    some
    warmth.
    Hercule
    s the cat
    watched
    from the
    window
    seat.
    Mar
    ie-Josèp
    he